Untreated Wounds, Unmended Hearts
by Evangeline Lockes
Summary: Getting caught in a grounder trap is deadly. Good thing they don't want Clarke dead.


**Hey, I have no idea why I wrote this. It's probably because I'm sick and bored. I think I might have rushed it but I really don't care at this point so sorry if there are any problems.**

 **Disclaimer: Blah... I wish I owned The 100 and it's characters, but alas, I do not.**

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The deed was done. Irradiating the mountain had been their only choice and Clarke had pulled the lever. It tore her apart, knowing that she had sent so many innocents to their deaths. The fact that Bellamy helped her did nothing to ease the guilt and self-loathing. In the end it was her decision, and she had been the one to kill them.

Leaving Camp Jaha was something she felt she had to do. To take the guilt with her so that no one else had to carry it, or be reminded of the event when she walked by them. It was yet another decision she had to make for her people.

She didn't make it far though. She wasn't really cut out to be self-sufficient in the wilderness and made a mistake in her steps. She had fallen into a grounder trap, one that was similar to the one Bellamy had saved her from when they first landed, sharpened sticks protruding from the shadows cast by the walls of the pit.

Clarke was lucky, her body had miraculously managed to slip into the gaps between the spears, her right shoulder being the only injured part of her as she landed roughly on it and knocked it out of place. She let out an anguished cry but stayed silent after the first wave of pain diminished. She did not deserve the right to complain.

Three days. She had nothing to eat and slept less than four hours each day. Soon her body began to alter itself, producing useless energy that was accompanied by the alcohol that had been produced within her body during the process. Her vision became clouded along with her hearing, making her vulnerable to everything around her.

She could no longer feel the pain in her shoulder.

She somehow managed to hear the men approaching on the fourth day, just barely able to distinguish the crunch of dead leaves under heavy boots. A man peeked into the hole and his eyes widened immediately upon seeing her. He yelled urgently, looking towards someone just out of Clarke's sight, and she couldn't help but groan at the abruptness of his rough voice assaulting her nearly inoperative hearing. She did not beg for help, staying silent.

Suddenly a young boy came over the edge of the pit and riggled between the deadly spikes, landing with a small grunt. Once down he scurried over to Clarke and pulled the spikes around her out of the ground so she would have more room to lie down. He rolled her on to her back, making her grit her teeth when the bones in her shoulder rubbed together, and began wiping her face clean with a rag he had pulled from his pocket. He then went about clearing more of the spears away until a larger man had enough room to jump down with them.

A rope came down after the man and he took it and walked over to Clarke. She glanced up briefly but returned her gaze to the ground when she could only see a blur standing above her. She felt the rope being tied around her in intricate patterns, which were made to avoid hurting her further, and then she was being pulled upward. Her back scraped against the dirt wall, causing pain to shoot through her but she payed it no mind. Right before she was pulled onto level ground she saw the large man help the boy out of the pit before crawling out on his own.

Light hit Clarke's face violently and she had to close her eyes to avoid the stinging in them. There was murmuring in around her and she tried to see who had saved her, but her head moved side to side blindly. She gave up quickly.

Someone lifted her, and she was placed into a basket-like carrier that was being dragged by a horse. A man's face came into her short line of sight and she could see his lips moving, though she could not hear what he was saying. She strained to understand his words but needlessly wasted energy, falling into unconsciousness.

When she woke it was slowly and with great difficulty. Her eyelids felt like they had been sewn shut and her body ached everywhere, her shoulder being the worst. A small groan left her mouth and she was surprised when she could hear it, even more surprised when she opened her eyes and they were no longer plagued by murkiness. But what surprised her the most was what she saw when she turned her head to the side so she could figure out where she was.

Lexa.

The woman was sitting in a wooden chair, face relaxed while she slept soundly. She looked completely at peace. As if she was not a ruthless leader of the Trikru. She looked innocent. Clarke knew better though. She had had enough experience with the Commander to know that she would kill anyone who threatened her people, and betray those who trust her for them. Clarke was no more than a pawn in the grounders strategy.

The blonde felt anger boil up in the pit of her stomach, making her feel powerful and sick all at the same time. With a groan she forced herself up and attempted to stand off of the bed she was lying on. One step was all she could make before her legs started to shake and gave out from under her, falling to her knees and accidentally hitting Lexa's side with the arm she tried to use to catch herself.

Lexa was jostled awake at once and flew to her feet, ready to take on her attacker. It only took her a moment to register Clarke struggling on the group and she dropped the defensive stance and leaned over the blonde woman to help her back up.

"Don't touch me!" Clarke's words were rough from how little she had talked in the past several days. Lexa could sense the anger coiling in Clarke's tense body but still wrapped her arms around her, hoisting the smaller woman up onto the furs. Clarke beat at her embrace trying to get free, only stopping when the other backed off and moved away.

She glared at Lexa, who looked back with a cracked mask and saddened eyes.

"I need to treat your wounds, Clarke. You dislocated your shoul-" Clarke cut her off, throwing bowl that was sitting on a table by the bed at the Commander. Lexa ducked ungracefully, caught off guard by the attack, and stared at Clarke in shock.

"Clarke-" She began again but the blonde refused to let her finish.

"No! You are not treating me. You either leave and get someone else to treat me, or I stay the way I am!" She growled at Lexa. The brunette tried to make Clarke see reason, trying to speak again but is met with more anger.

"Get out!" It's louder than before and Lexa does as she is told, afraid that her presence will push Clarke to do something that will injure her further.

Inside the tent, Clarke lets the tears fall.

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 **So this was just for fun, I don't know if I'll continue because I have a story that I'm working on right now. Plus, I don't feel like coming up with a plot for this right now.**

 **Fav, follow, review. It's up to you.**

 **Danke.**


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